Supernatural Control
by The Cry-Wank Kid
Summary: When Kit's pet ghost, Tate, brings home a stray zombie, things get slightly heated in the Walker household. Pure, ridiculous silliness and complete parody. One-shot.


**Author's note: Quick disclaimer that I totally love these characters, they routinely inspire me and break my heart and make me cry and are generally awesome. That said, after Wednesday's episode of _Coven,_ I think we could all use a good laugh.**

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"Aaargh! Tate, I thought I told you to take that thing to the pound today!" Cried an exasperated Kit Walker. He had just gotten home from a long day of kissing babies, getting cats down from trees, helping little old ladies cross the road, and healing terminal cancer patients with the touch of his hand. He wanted to relax. "For Christ's sake, it's not even housebroken!"

"I put down newspaper," pouted the ghost. "Ohh, Kit can't we keep him?! Come on, he's cool!"

Kit looked at the Frankenstein zombie-Kyle, Tate called it-that was sitting on the living room floor, drooling and staring at him with big, doe-like eyes. He really didn't want a zombie. Zombies were loud and needy and couldn't be left alone overnight, whereas ghosts were more independent and quieter as pets.

The man sighed, sitting down on the couch. "Tate, if you wanted a zombie, you could have at least asked me to take you to the pound to pick one out. Not take home a stray one you found on the side of the freeway. What were you _thinking_?"

"But girls really _like_ him," whined Tate. "He's like, the best possible combination of both of us. Like someone took all the stuff people liked about me, like being helpless and childlike and needing a mommy, but then added the one thing they liked better about you-you know, like, being a fundamentally good person. It's great!"

Kit's patience was wearing thin. "Tate, for the last time we are not keeping him. I want you to take him to the pound first thing tomorrow, and I'm serious! That thing could have fleas, it's not housebroken, it's obviously feral..."

"You're mean!" Cried Tate. "And your accent comes and goes! Half the time you sound normal and the other half you're all, 'oh, lookit me, I'm Kit Wawkah, mah butt smells like old cream cheese...'"

"My butt does not smell like old cream cheese!" Yelled Kit, jumping to his feet in anger. "You take that back!"

"I won't!"

Kit turned, pulling at his own hair and remembering the day he adopted the blonde phantom from the supernatural pound. He'd initially wanted a different type of ghost-a small, quiet one like Casper or else something along the lines of Sinbad from _House_ _Ghost_-but when Tate's big, teary brown eyes looked at him, his charitable heart couldn't say no. Tate's papers had marked him as an owner surrender. The former owner had listed herself as Violet Harmon but declined to leave a phone number. Under "reasons for surrender" she'd checked "aggressive with people" and two "other" boxes which she'd filled in with _got my_ _mom pregnant_ and _cries too much_. Now Kit rued the day.

"You're just mad because girls like us better!" Exclaimed the ghost.

"You guys?! I'm perfect! I'm brave, and strong, and unfailingly kind even to complete _assholes," _at this Kit shot a sharp glare in Tate's direction. "You're a mass murderer who's in tears ninety percent of the time and brought about the antichrist, and he can't even talk!"

"Girls still like us better!" Tate cried. "Nobody liked season two, Kit! Get over it!"

Kit's large eyes widened with hurt. "People liked season two..." he said softly, dejected. "Everyone said that they liked it..."

"They were just being nice! Just look at the amount of fan fiction; hardly anyone even wrote about it!" Tate gestured towards Kyle. "He's _already_ got more than you!"

Unbeknownst to both of them, at that exact moment Ryan Murphy was alone out on international waters, dumping bags full of _Asylum_ DVDs off a boat, sobbing profusely and intermittently wailing, "Write an alien sub-plot, they said! Everyone will love it, they said!"

Kit lowered his voice. "You know what, Tate, why don't I just drop you back off at the pound tomorrow, too? Huh? You obviously don't respect me."

Tate buried his head in his own lap and gave a high-pitched whine that careened into a sob-like keening. Kyle, assuming something must be wrong because Tate sounded upset, imitated the keening and began to cry, too.

"Hey, hey, okay, no more of that, huh?" Soothed Kit gently, sitting down between the two dead teenagers and petting Tate. "You know I didn't mean it... now come on, cut that out. I don't want the neighbors complaining about the noise again." He reached a hand out to pet Kyle as well but hesitated. He didn't know where that zombie had been.

As quickly as the waterworks had been turned on the ghost turned them off again, with Kyle following suit. Kit breathed a sigh of relief, removing his newsboy cap warily as Tate focused instead on using the edge of Kit's oversized paisley collar to pick his nose.

Kit batted his hand away. "Cut that out."

Tate produced a small, high-pitched whimper, his lower lip quivering cinematically. Kit sighed heavily and let him go back to what he was doing.

Just then there was a knock on the door. Kit got up and opened it to see two men dressed in jumpsuits.

"We're with county Supernatural Control," the larger man said. "Is this the home of Kit Gary Stu Walker?"

"Yes sir, that would be me."

"Alright. I've had several complaints about a zombie making a whole lot of noise on your property. I'm gonna need to see some papers."

Kit winced. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't have papers for him. My ghost brought him home two days ago and I'm taking him in to the pound first thing tomorrow."

"We'll if you'd like to keep him, you can. All you need to do is stop by the pound and fill out the correct papers. Though I do suggest you take some further measures to keep him quiet, or there may be future trouble."

When the door shut again, Tate was bouncing off the walls. "Oh Kit, can we keep him?! We're keeping him, right, aren't we?!"

"Tate, we've already been through this several times. I don't have the time or the money; we absolutely cannot..."

"-_Whaaa_ haa haa, I don't remember shooting up the high school!" Cut in the ghost, in a fit of dramatic weeping.

"Okay, okay, fine. We can keep him." Kit sat down again, switching on the evening news with a defeated sigh. "I'll go get the paperwork tomorrow..."

Tate's anguish disappeared and he calmly sat down next to Kit, grabbing the remote and changing the channel unceremoniously to Looney Toons. A protracted fart noise came from the direction of Kyle.

"That was totally you," Tate said matter-of-factly, turning to Kit. Kit shook his head, putting his face in his hands. "Just send me back to Briarcliff..." he muttered. It was a rough life, but someone had to live it.


End file.
